


Sturmesnacht

by lustig



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bad Flirting, Bad Pick-Up Lines, Blacksmithing, Hand Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shameless Smut, Sweat, Swords, Thunderstorms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-11-09 09:22:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20851121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lustig/pseuds/lustig
Summary: The visit to Treville's favourite sword smith turns out quite different from what he had expected - which isn't necessarily a bad thing...





	Sturmesnacht

**Author's Note:**

  * For [red_edelweiss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/red_edelweiss/gifts).

> To the following prompt by [rededelweiss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/red_edelweiss):
> 
> _i now want a smutty one-shot with Treville where he has one-night stand with the blacksmith he came to in order to buy the best swords for his regiment. both men bond over how fabulous swords are and how fabulous they'd both look naked._
> 
> Translations for the German linked in footnotes. Beta'd by the lovely [Little_Raven_23](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Little_Raven_23)

_Es war in dunkler Sturmesnacht, so hat man uns gesagt…_

The banging could barely be heard above the thunderous rain and howling of the wind. Heinrich stopped hammering on the red-hot steel in front of him to listen.

_Bang, bang, bang_. There it was again.

“Wilhelm!” The bulky smith shouted, and his apprentice appeared beside him, with an obedient “Ja, Meister?[1]”

“Jemand ist an der Tür. Kümmer dich drum.[2]”

The boy nodded and hurried towards the entrance, while Heinrich continued forming a new blade out of the material in front of him. It was hot in the smithy, not improved by the fact that opening any window in this weather was basically impossible.

Absent-mindedly he wondered who would choose this late an evening to visit his workspace and kept an ear on the conversation in the entrance while continuing his work.

“Good evening, monsieur,” Wilhelm greeted the visitor, his French gratifyingly accent-free, so unlike Heinrich’s own.

“Good evening,” a familiar voice answered the apprentice, “is your Master at home?”

Heinrich smiled and put the unfinished blade back into the fire, cleaning his hands on a piece of cloth next to it.

“Hello, Jean,” he welcomed the Musketeer, stepping towards the entrance. Treville looked up, a smile spreading over his face and lighting up his forever-blue eyes.

“’Einrisch!” he greeted the smith, grabbed him by his shoulders and pulled him down to kiss both his cheeks. “It’s good to see you.”

Heinrich looked the other man up and down and whistled under his breath.

“I see you’ve managed quite well since the last time I saw you. Is that a captain’s rank I spot there?”

Treville looked smug for a moment before drawing himself up to his full height – even if that wasn’t a lot in comparison to the German smith.

“Freshly promoted, my friend. I am now Captain of the King’s Musketeers!”

Heinrich nodded as if to confirm something to himself.

“I told you, you were meant for greatness.” His eyes flickered down, subconsciously checking the sword on the Musketeer’s side. “You’re still carrying that blade you bought when you last came to me,” he realised with delight and automatically took a step forward, his hand hungrily stretched out in front of him.

“Of course I do,” Treville answered and pulled out his rapier, offering it to Heinrich hilt first.

While the smith swung it through the air in a few well-practised motions the Musketeer looked back to the door and the apprentice next to it.

“Do you have a stable close by where I can put my horse to rest? It’s been a long day, but I wanted to see you before retiring and speak to you about a commission of utmost importance.”

Heinrich stopped and lowered the rapier.

“Wilhelm can take care of that,” and, directing towards his apprentice he said, “Bring Monsieur de Treville’s Pferd runter zum Stall und sorg’ dafür, dass es gut versorgt wird. Du kannst danach nach Hause; den Rest können er und ich gemeinsam erledigen.[3]“

Wilhelm looked unsure for a moment, then a wide smile took over his face.

“Danke, Meister.[4]” He bowed hastily, bid them both a good night and disappeared.

“He’s very eager to go,” Treville commented after the door had closed behind Wilhelm. “He’s lucky my horse is tired after our travel; otherwise he’d have found out what a right bastard it can be.”

Heinrich laughed, and Treville looked pleased.

“Wilhelm has a sweetheart down in the village. He thinks I don’t know, but I’m not an idiot. His French has improved far too fast. And I’m glad for him. He’s good and hardworking, and one day he’ll take over my smithy, it’s good if he picks up family along the way, too.” He twirled the blade around expertly and offered it back to its owner.

“You’ve taken very good care of it. Makes me really happy to see.”

Treville took his sword back and sheathed it, then followed Heinrich to the forge, where the workpiece was glowing with intense yellow-white heat.

The smith picked up his tools again and continued forming a new sword out of the steel. Treville inspected the smithy curiously, without actually poking around too much, and came back to the hammering German a few minutes later. His face had reddened in the heat of the room, and he looked a little uncomfortable in his coat and leather.

“You can let your stuff dry; just put it on that bench next to the fire. What was that commission you came to talk to me about?”

Thankful, the Musketeer put his wet coat on said furniture and watched the steam beginning to rise from the part closest to the flame only moments after.

“The Musketeer regiment needs new swords,” Treville started, blunt as ever. “And the blade you gave me has served me amazingly well, so I’d like my regiment to be supplied with the same quality weapons.”

Heinrich brought the unfinished sword back to the fire and stayed there, next to Treville, in thoughtful silence.

“You want me to make swords for a full regiment of Musketeers?”

“Yes.”

“Who’s paying for that?”

“The Royal Treasury.” Treville raised a hand when Heinrich opened his mouth for another retort. “I know what you want to say. France has no money. At least not enough to pay for a full set of Solingen quality rapiers when I had to finance my sword on my own, too.”

The Captain stared into the flames, his face serious.

“The King doesn’t actually know I’m here. A couple of my men and I had an errand to run close by, and I’ll meet them again tomorrow morning, they’re staying in another village. But I have the King’s ear and chances are good I’ll get at least a little budget to equip my men. We’re part of the Royal household, after all. We’re supposed to look as fancy as we are skilful.”

“You’re saying you don’t know if you can buy the swords, but I should still make them in the hope you’ll get the money?”

Treville smiled weakly.

“I know I can’t ask that of you–“

“No, you bloody well can’t!”

“– so I just wanted to inform you that it’s possible you’ll get an official commission about these swords quite soon, and it’s me asking for them.”

Heinrich still didn’t look overly taken by that idea, but less thunderous than just moments earlier. He started blowing the bellow, the fire rising and dancing in the airstream, and finally gave a curt nod.

“It will still depend on how much the Treasury is ready to pay, but if I can, I will take the order.”

Treville’s face softened.

“I’m glad to hear that, ‘Einrisch. There is no smith I’d rather see this order bestowed upon.” He looked around the smithy, then back to Heinrich, still steadily blowing the bellow, and asked, “Can I help you with something? You send your apprentice away, after all.”

“You can take over the bellow, the heat is going down too much.”

“Not a lot I can do wrong with rhythmical pushing, eh?”

“There are some rumours about musketeers even reaching _my_ ears, Jean,” Heinrich smirked, and Treville grumbled good-heartedly and took over the German’s place next to the fire.

The smith pulled out the glowing steel to continue shaping it while it was hot, and the groaning and hammering filled the room, drowning out the pitter-patter of the rain.

Heating up, forming the blade, bellowing, the two men had worked in silence for a timeless moment, maybe half an hour, maybe an hour, when Heinrich stopped after putting his workpiece back into the fire and noticed, “You look like you’re hot.”

The Captain’s face was indeed drenched in sweat, so close to the fire, and his voice sounded breathless when he answered: “Do I look like I’m _hot_ or like I’m _in heat_?[5]”

Red spots of embarrassment began to appear on Heinrich’s cheeks, but Treville looked mostly cheeky, and he did something _that should be illegal_ with his tongue while waiting for the German’s answer.

The smith stared for a moment too long before regaining his wit, and stated, far too hoarse for his own taste, “You’re making fun of me.”

Treville smiled, all the way up to his eyes.

“Maybe a little.”

He had stopped blowing the bellow and was now looking at Heinrich expectantly.

The German stepped closer, until the Musketeer had to look up to meet his eyes, and growled darkly: “Do you know what helps with heat?” Without waiting for an answer, Heinrich pulled off his heavy leather apron, dropped it next to Treville’s drying coat on the bench, then took off the woollen shirt he wore beneath, already soaked with sweat.

It was reckless and stupid, and he would have sent Wilhelm to scrubbing duty for at least a week if he had pulled something like this, but right now Heinrich didn’t care about possible burns, only about the rapidly darkening eyes of his visitor.

“Does it, now?”

“Try it and see for yourself.”

Their eyes never strayed from each other while Treville opened and removed his leather and only shortly while he slipped out of the shirt he wore below. There was tension in the air, bordering on uncomfortable while they mustered each other’s bare chests, until Treville audibly breathed out, the sound not entirely like a low whistle, and joked, “If I hadn’t already been in heat before, I would have certainly gone into it now.”

Heinrich laughed.

“You don’t look half bad yourself. All that riding and fencing have toned your body quite well.”

He took a last appreciative glance at the naked torso of Treville and sighed a little.

“Shall we continue, then? I need one or two more forming rounds, then I’ll finish for today.”

“Certainly.”

Heinrich was aware of Treville’s eyes on him while he continued working on the blade, and he flexed his muscles a lot more than actually necessary, enjoying the uncommon freedom. The heat of the fire bathed his naked skin in a sheet of sweat and without the woollen shirt to soak up the liquid; he was soon gleaming golden in the low light.

He put the blade away, polishing and sharpening the work of tomorrow, and looked over to Treville, still watching him through long lashes.

The Musketeer was leaning against the bench with their clothing, relaxed and at ease, his skin a few shades darker than the smith’s but at least as sweaty. After a moment, Heinrich flashed him a smile, went to another part of his workshop and came back with two naked blades, finished except for the missing guards.

“Take them and tell me what you think,” the German ordered, and Treville took the first rapier and swung it around a few times.

“The balance is slightly off; it’s a bit too far into the blade, not around the hilt.”

“It’s because the guard is still missing. That will give the sword the needed weight around the hilt. What about the other one?”

Heinrich took the blade off Treville and put it back, cleaning up a little around the workshop while the Musketeer tried out the other weapon. The light of the dying fire illuminated the dancing pair gloriously, silver steel and golden skin. It was a delight to watch, and Heinrich heard himself asking: “Where will you sleep tonight?”

The Captain stopped and lowered the top, turning towards the smith. “I was hoping the tavern would have a spot for me, but if you’d suggest something else…?”

“There’s enough space at my place if you want to.”

Treville was silent for a moment, and Heinrich felt a cold shiver running down his spine, suddenly afraid he had read the wrong intentions into the Musketeers behaviour over the course of the evening.

“Where does your apprentice sleep?” his visitor finally broke the silence.

“With a family down in the village. The locals need to accept him as one of theirs, and that’s easier if they actually know him.”

Heinrich busied himself with putting away his tools to hide the sudden shaking of his hands. Even though nothing had happened, he had _been_ right, this had been too close a call.

A hand on his shoulder stopped the frantic movements.

“In that case, I’ll gladly stay with you. And the blade is absolutely amazing. Same mobility and movement pattern but definitely lighter. How?”

Heinrich turned around, now facing the shorter man again.

“The smiths in Solingen try to make the rapier more useful as the sidearm it’s meant to be. And a few of them still update me on the newest design ideas every now and then.”

“Could you make weapons like this if I get you the commission?”

“That’s why I gave them to you for trying, so you’d tell me which type you’d prefer for you musketeers.”

Treville looked excited, like a boy with a new toy, and reluctant to part with the blade in his hand.

“It’s still not entirely finished, Jean. But if you get me this commission, the first sword I make will be for you.”

“It already feels like a natural extension of my arm.”

“I’m glad to hear that. But I’d still like it back.”

Heinrich took a deep breath and stepped closer until mere inches parted their naked chests. Treville radiated heat like a furnace, his southern blood too strong to be licked by the storm outside and the burning fire inside the smithy. The German lowered his head towards the shorter Musketeer, one of his hands carefully cradling the other man’s cheek.

“Please?” Heinrich breathed against Treville’s lips, just barely not touching and an involuntary whimper escaped the Captain.

“That’s unfair!” he tried to complain, but his voice was dark and hoarse and destroyed every trace of actual offendedness. He pressed the hilt into the smith’s hand and was rewarded with a dark chuckle against his lips. Then Heinrich removed himself again from the Musketeer’s personal space and brought the blade back to the corner where he had originally got it from.

Treville still stood where Heinrich had left him, looking slightly bereft.

“You can keep standing there, or you grab our shirts and come with me.”

~*~

Heinrich lived directly next to the smithy, with a door connecting his house and his workshop. It made changing the location into a more private setting all the more easy.

“So this is why you’ll leave the smithy to your apprentice,” Treville murmured while pressing himself against the German and small kisses on his shoulder. “I was wondering about that earlier, but I suspected something like this, otherwise I wouldn’t even have _tried_ to flirt with you.”

“I’m trying to lock the door.”

“What’s stopping you?”

Heinrich was able to restrain himself enough to put the bolt in before he turned around, grabbed Treville by hip and shoulder and pinned him against the wall next to the door with his own body.

“_You are too damn distracting, Monsieur!_” he growled, moved one of his legs between the Musketeer’s and found out how distracting said Musketeer had found _him_ in return.

Treville moaned at the surprise friction, and Heinrich felt a jolt of arousal going straight down, kicking his own cock into wakefulness.

“How can you already be _that_ hard?” the smith huffed and rubbed his knee against the sensitive bulge in the Captain’s breeches. Another deep moan escaped him, and he threw his head back, hitting it against the wall with an audible _thud_.

“Wielding a – a perfect weapon a-always gets me excited,” Treville gasped, his hip moving against the knee on its own volition. “Especially these beautiful, pliant blades that have never been touched before.” Another helpless moan. “You of all people should be able to understand.”

“Oh, I do,” Heinrich rumbled into his ear. It was darker and colder in the house, the only light the diffuse dimness sneaking in from the smithy on the other side of the door. The drying sweat glued their naked chests together in their intimate embrace. “But you should still be able to exert _some_ self-control, especially now that you are Captain of the King’s Musketeers.”

He bit into Treville’s neck, just below the ear, and untied the breeches, his hand massaging the bulge from above when Treville gave an unhappy noise after he took away his knee to rut against.

When his hand wrapped around the erect cock, the Musketeer’s legs would have given way below him, had Heinrich’s body not held him up while he was desperately clinging to the broad shoulders.

“Fuck,” Treville swore, bucking into the hand. The friction was nearly painful, both cock and hand too hot and too dry, but the men were unable to stop. Heinrich collected the bit of pre-cum leaking out and smeared it down the hard shaft, smoothening the pumping at least a little. His own cock pressed against the fabric of his breeches, but he paid no attention to it for now, far too engrossed in watching Treville slowly but surely falling apart in front of him.

They had managed to find a rhythm, slow but merciless, and it didn’t take long before the Captain came undone, his bucking uncontrolled and erratic, still clinging to Heinrich’s shoulders. His fingers sank into the smith’s biceps, the nails leaving crescent-like shapes in the skin, and he burrowed his face in the taller man’s neck, the musky smell of fire and sweat strong and overpowering.

With a last desperate whimper, Treville came, his semen hot and sticky on Heinrich’s hand.

They fought for breath, the laboured breathing the only sound in the room, and when they had their bearing back together again – at least more or less – Heinrich placed a kiss on the corner of Treville’s mouth and quietly asked: “Bedroom?”

A weak nod answered him, and he carefully disentangled himself from the Musketeer, now slouching boneless against the wall, blinking at him sluggishly.

Heinrich looked around and picked up their shirts, carelessly discarded on the floor, then walked towards his bedroom, his erection still pressing uncomfortably against his breeches.

The second set of steps behind him told the smith that his guest was following him, a look behind once they reached the door to his chamber made him believe Treville had actually taken the time to fasten his breeches again - as good as possible with still shaking fingers.

He opened the door with the hand he held the shirts in and dropped them on the floor behind, stepping over to the washing basin to clear the other one from the already half-dried cum.

The Captain closed the door behind him and came over while Heinrich was drying his hand, stroking the smith’s back before sinking into the mattress behind him.

The room was completely dark now, illuminated only by the sudden and irregular flashes of lightning, just barely enough to give a basic idea of the room’s layouts. The wind and rain were still howling around the house and against the windows.

Heinrich finished cleaning the hand, not bothering with the sweat-sticky rest of his body, then climbed in the bed above Treville, another flash painting the bronze-skinned Musketeer in milky white.

He had obviously waited for the same thing because the smith felt hands working on the fastening of his breeches when the light was gone again and dark thunder rolling all around them. His cock, already a little deflated again after not getting any attention over the last few minutes, twitched back into full interest once Treville brushed against the sensitive skin while pushing down the rough garment.

Heinrich sat up, getting rid of the breeches completely and helping Treville out of his own, too. The naked skin stuck together where their limbs touched, the room less hot than the smithy but the air heavy and stifling nonetheless, unable to be exchanged for fresher one with the storm outside. Sweat was building up in a thin layer on both their bodies again, making their every move slightly uncomfortable.

But when Treville’s hand wrapped around the smith’s cock, he couldn’t care any longer, closing his eyes in silent bliss. The Musketeer moved in closer again, their chests not touching, and licked all the way up Heinrich’s throat, from the chest to his ear, and rumbled, accompanied by another rolling thunder: “Fuck me.”

The absolute hunger in Treville’s voice, in Treville’s words made something snap in the smith. He grabbed the Captain’s head with one hand, surged forward to connect their lips in a violent battle and used his superior size and momentum to topple them both over, pinning Treville to the bed below him.

The unexpected movement extracted a surprised yelp from the Musketeer and a low, keening moan of Heinrich, whose cock was still wrapped in the other man’s hand while their position changed, the pressure on the hot flesh too much and not enough, too sudden to satisfy, uncomfortable yet exactly what he needed in that moment.

He abandoned plundering Treville’s mouth to gasp for air, the Captain’s breathless chuckle in his ear.

“Do you have some kind of oil around?”

Heinrich pressed his forehead into the crook of Treville’s neck.

“If you let go of me for a moment, I can get some,” the smith confirmed. There was always some linseed oil in the house, it was vital for finishing the polishing process of new blades.

“Be fast,” the Musketeer ordered and pressed a soft kiss to the German’s temple before letting him go.

Heinrich stumbled through the dark room, out into the hallway and groped his way to the supply room, where he stored his stash of oil. A small, unopened bottle in one hand he went back, only to stop in the door where another lighting illuminated Treville lazily stroking himself back to hardness.

“Getting started without me, I see.”

“You took too long. I got bored.”

Heinrich scoffed and climbed back into the bed, on top of the Captain, and kissed his way up the salty chest, all the way to the throat. Treville’s breathing had gotten more and more laboured and his hands had stilled, the body taunt and expectant under the smith’s lips.

He pressed the bottle into the Musketeer’s hands and murmured in a sultry voice: “If you get bored so easily, open yourself up _on your own_.”

He nibbled at the throat when Treville moaned in surprise and hunted down the smith’s lips for a real kiss while sitting up, turning the bottle in his hand.

Heinrich mirrored his movement, ending up with a lapful of Musketeer and the Captain’s dark rumble in his ear: “Will you at least help me with the oil?”

He put one arm around the smith’s shoulder, wriggling into a more comfortable position, brushing their cocks together as if by accident. Heinrich obediently took the bottle back when offered, and Treville opened the seal and tilted the smith’s hand to let a few drops roll out and onto his fingers.

A low moan told Heinrich that the Musketeer had indeed started fingering himself, his arm like steel around the smith’s shoulders. Lightning flashed, burning the picture of a thrown back head and o-shaped mouth into the German’s eyes. His hip bucked forward, the cocks brushing together again, and a shudder went through the man in his lap.

“More oil,” Treville panted, pulled Heinrich closer and pressed his face against the taller man’s chest. Heinrich wrapped his free arm around Treville’s back, too, to stabilise him a little bit more, and used that hand to make his way down to the Musketeer’s arse, pulling him even closer once he found it. He used this information to let some more oil roll down the spine, collecting it with his own fingers.

He brushed his hand against the Captain’s, ordering it to retreat and taking the place himself, to a little mewling noise against his chest. Heinrich’s fingers were rougher and stronger, heightening the sensations for Treville even more. With another few drops of oil dribbling down, a second finger soon joined the first, the scissoring motions extracting moans somewhere between pain and pleasure from the Musketeer.

It did not stop him from pushing down on those fingers whenever Heinrich changed angle or direction, though.

The now free hand of Treville, still slick with oil, sneaked between their bodies and wrapped around their shafts, pressing the hot and far too sensitive flesh together.

Heinrich gasped, his body cramping together, fingers curling both on Treville’s back and inside his arse.

“Stop,” he hissed desperately, just barely reigning in another buck of his hip. “I’m going to come if you keep touching me.”

A breathless laugh came from the level of his chest, and Treville turned his head to kiss the smith’s throat, beads of sweat gathering at his back.

“Then get going and _take me_.”

“You’re not –”

“I’ve gone with less preparation before, I’ll be _fine_.”

The Captain took Heinrich’s hand, still wrapped around the small bottle and led it back between their bodies, tilting it so the liquid gold dripped onto their cocks. The smith whimpered when Treville spread the oil on the overheated flesh and curled his fingers again, brushing against something that made the other man tense up completely and then nearly collapse on him. He felt the Musketeer’s cock twitch against him and pulled his hand out and away, aware they were both already too close for any more teasing.

Heinrich pulled back a fraction, putting away the oil, and Treville used that movement to change his position, too, not a lot, he was still facing Heinrich, but he was ready to sink down on the smith and another flash of blinding white made directing himself even easier.

“Ready?” Treville asked, voice husky and hand wrapped around the slick cock of the smith, already teasing his entrance with the tip. Instead of a verbal answer, Heinrich just pulled his head close to join their lips in a passionate kiss, while the Captain sank down on his hard member, thunder rolling around them, rattling the windows and sending shivers down their spines.

The rhythm they both picked up after uniting their bodies was hard and fast-paced, no patience left for a slow build-up. Every time Heinrich’s cock brushed against that spot, Treville moaned, clinging just a bit closer. His own erection was trapped between their bodies, slightly oily and rubbing against the sweat-soaked skin of their bellies.

It didn’t take long for either of them.

Treville came first, the constant rubbing sensation against his tip, prostate and shaft proving too much, and when his muscles clamped down on Heinrich’s cock inside of him, the smith, too, crumbled, emptying his semen into the Musketeer on his lap.

They laid there, still united, slowly softening, and tried to catch their breaths, shivering in the sudden chill the drying sweat gave them. The thunder sounded far off now, and Heinrich listened to the distant rumble for a while before sluggishly getting up to grab some fabric to clean them both.

Treville was already drifting off to sleep, completely drained, and only made a slightly unhappy noise when the wet cloth took care of the splashes of cum on his chest and belly.

Without caring overly much Heinrich let the cloth fall on the floor and opened the window, a gush of cold wind hitting him in the face.

He stood there and stared outside for a few minutes, the wind and rain calming down, until he heard the soft snores behind him. There were still a few things left he wanted to ask Treville, but they would have to wait until morning. For now, his body asked for sleep, and he staggered back to the bed, the window closed again, wrapped himself around Treville and into a blanket and sank into a deep, dreamless sleep.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

[1] Yes, Master? [return to text]

[2] Someone is at the door. Take care of it. [return to text]

[3] Bring Monsieur de Treville’s horse down to the stable and see that it’ll be properly taken care of. You can go home afterwards; he and I can finish up together. [return to text]

[4] Thank you, Master. [return to text]

[5] In French, there is this beautiful word “chaude”, which means “horny”, or “in heat” (it’s a very rude word.). It is quite close to “chaud”, which is simply “hot”. Now, a Non-native French speaker can mess up pronunciation quite easily, so a “tu as l'air d'avoir chaud” = “you look like you're hot” can be easily pronounced as “Tu as l'air d'avoir chaude” = “you look like you’re horny”. Courtesy of this information goes to [FreyaLor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreyaLor). [return to text]

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Sturmesnacht - Heinrich Character Sketches](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20853092) by [Dans-le-Vif (Criz)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Criz/pseuds/Dans-le-Vif)


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